


done bleeding

by princegrantaire



Series: little by little [4]
Category: Green Lantern (Comics), Justice Society of America (Comics)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: It’s a week after the grave and the fight. Ted shows up with a six-pack and pizza from Capelli’s in New York, and Alan knows he must’ve taken the train because he hates the traffic and the way it gets his blood pumping like he’s going for a third round with Derek Troxell back in ‘49. Alan appreciates the effort, though he lingers in the doorway and only belatedly thinks to step aside and let Ted into the penthouse. It’s hard to tell how much he knows.(The truth catches up to Alan.)
Relationships: Ted Grant & Alan Scott
Series: little by little [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044231
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	done bleeding

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel to [my previous fic exploring alan and todd's relationship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478459) and [the one where jay finds out alan is gay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077802), while neither are required reading to understand this i would generally recommend them as they're heavily referenced. with all the fantastic news we've been getting lately about hbo green lantern and the fact that alan's arc will miraculously play out exactly like i've imagined, i thought i might as well complete the trilogy of Alan's Internalised Homophobia. as usual, this is half character study but i hope it's still enjoyable!
> 
> ALL MY LOVE TO @SLAAPKAT ALWAYS. YOU'RE AMAZING, ::SPORTSMASTER VOICE:: BUD!!!!

It’s a week after the grave and the fight. Ted shows up with a six-pack and pizza from Capelli’s in New York, and Alan knows he must’ve taken the train because he hates the traffic and the way it gets his blood pumping like he’s going for a third round with Derek Troxell back in ‘49. Alan appreciates the effort, though he lingers in the doorway and only belatedly thinks to step aside and let Ted into the penthouse. It’s hard to tell how much he knows.

“Heard you an’ Jay had one of your rows the other day.”

Ted, who says it like it’s funny, occupies himself with setting everything down on the little coffee table Alan’s only in possession of because Carter had been redecorating. It’s the kind of thing he keeps getting saddled with, the penthouse is two-thirds furniture choice members of the JSA had found it necessary to dump on their no-longer-newly-single friend and his lack of interest in the sea of boxes littering the place. Alan’s been here fifteen years and counting. If prompted, he’d say he’s slow with unpacking.

“Did he tell you that?” Alan asks, settling down on the couch a ways away from Ted. He helps himself to a slice of pizza and finds that while he hadn’t been counting on company, he’s not surprised to see Ted. It’s past nine, he can’t recall lunch.

It’s not like any fallout would come out of nowhere. Alan hasn’t apologised, knows he won’t. There’s no coming back from what he’d told Jay in a haze of frantic panic with all the grace of a cornered animal and there’s no coming back from what Jay had learned either -- an irreparable deadlock. It was bound to spread.

At that, Ted shrugs a shoulder and opens a beer with casual indifference. A lifetime’s practiced movements. “Listen, big guy, I’ve known ya since the war,” he starts, reaching for the pizza, “I think I know enough to figure out when you two start butting heads, alright? So, if you wanna tell me what happened, I’m all ears. I swear you’re lookin’ worse than when you spent all your time tryin’ to kill that kid from Boston.” He’s sitting with a leg tucked under himself, more at home than Alan’s ever been.

“What kid from--” Alan narrows his eyes, dull surprise making for a noxious mix when paired with the sudden realisation. “He’s not back, is he?” It’s the last thing he needs, the last goddamn--

“Nah, he ain’t,” Ted laughs. To him, it’s all easy.

Alan has few acquaintances and no friends. Ted, who likes to take him out when the weeks start looking interminable and Alan gets prone to random acts of arson and who never balks at throwing a casual arm around anyone at all, comes dangerously close to the latter category. Alan knows his enjoyment to be selfish, it’s never bothered him much. It’s the risk that wounds, the built-in need to analyse a brush of a hand and ensure he doesn’t linger past the mundane. He’d never ask for _more_ but he’d quite like not to lose what he’s already got.

They finish their pizza in an amicable silence that only stretches as far as Ted can afford to keep quiet. By the time Alan’s abandoning their few leftovers in the kitchen amongst a collection of takeout remnants born out of an inability to cook, he’s learned enough about Grant’s Gym’s regulars to identify them on sight next time he’s around. It’s a stomach-churning possibility. The stink of the last time is yet to leave him.

Ted grabs his third beer of the evening -- notable to himself alone, Alan has refused all but one sip -- and nods meaningfully towards the balcony. It’s Alan’s pride and joy, that little balcony overlooking the city lights. The open plan lends to an airy quality the penthouse couldn’t do without but the real charm of the GBC skyscraper has always been its view. Alan’s lived all over, it’s Gotham he always comes back to, even if it’s long stopped being the Gotham of his youth and the Gotham in his mind.

Here, in the city’s oldest district, he can pretend. Alan does too much of that now not to have grown adept at it. He follows Ted and leans against the railing and wishes frantically that he hadn't quit smoking sixty-odd years ago.

A covert cigarette is permitted every now and again, he decides as he watches Ted attempt to extract a pack from his pocket. “You want me to do that trick?” Alan asks, though he feels he shouldn’t. Some invisible boundary coils around him.

“Ya got that right, blondie. C’mere.”

And it’s easy enough to light Ted’s cigarette with the tip of his finger, a miniature flare of green fire in the night. Alan does the same for his own cigarette, takes a couple puffs in quick succession and lets the smoke wash over him. It doesn’t do much. Back in the heyday of GBC’s financial dire straits, Alan used to go through a whole pack over the course of a single board meeting. Maybe it hadn’t been much use then either.

The morning at the cemetery plays in his mind.

Over and over.

Having lived past his myth, Alan doesn’t know where to go from here. He’s never once planned on standing and taking it, couldn’t have imagined he’d ever survive it. Life, as it often does, had snuck up on him and continued undetected despite Alan’s firm belief that the world had been turned upside-down. He’d woken up in his bed the next day and the one after that, too, and there had been no hospitals or cops at his door or reporters. Some part of him, Alan thinks, is still holding out for the end. So far, it’s failed to appear.

There’s still time.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s bothering you or do I gotta start guessing?” Ted asks, fixing Alan with a familiar look. It’s genuine curiosity and Ted’s handsome like he’s always been, rough around the edges, three-day stubble and a nose that’s been broken one too many times. He and Jay are both warm and open, too good for the likes of Alan. They’re--

Heroes.

Alan knows he deserves every word Jay had thrown his way. The anger burning in his gut persists.

“It’s nothing,” Alan insists and then, because it’s Ted he’s dealing with here, adds, “I guess-- he just got on my case about Molly. You know, the usual.”

It has to be enough.

For now, it has to be _enough_.

Ted nods, seemingly understands. It only lasts a moment. “I never got why you and Molly didn’t work out,” he says, thoughtful around the cigarette he’s nearly done with. “Me? I thought ya really lucked out with that one, pal. She was head over heels for you back in the day, a real dynamite gal. Hell of a sight too, when she was jumpin’ around in those tights, way ahead of the curve. What happened, huh?”

If it’s a joke, it strikes Alan as an especially cruel one. He feels frenzied panic crawling up the back of his neck, ice-cold water in his veins. Alan is surprised and dismayed alike to find that he’s not bleeding out on the concrete below. His most enduring memory of Molly is her face in the hotel after the wedding, the concern that’d turned into disgust as she’d watched Alan throw up, hunched over the bathroom sink and clinging on for dear life. It had been panic then, too. The instant immensity of regret. If he’d ever meant to apologise for the fate he’d condemned her to, the urge has disappeared in the ensuing decades of misery.

 _Did you get what you needed?_ is what Alan had said when Molly had handed him the divorce papers that afternoon in his office and he’d known with a certainty that’d been half pleasant that the Green Lantern she had spent so long dreaming of had never quite existed. Alan hadn’t thought to spare Molly his urge downwards in the pursuit of the safety which can’t fall further. As always, there had been comfort in the abyss.

He can only hope to find it again.

It’s the first time Alan’s ever wanted to say it. If he doesn’t, Jay will. It seems a sure thing and Alan would like his apocalypse grasped tightly in his own hands. He’s spent too long looking over his shoulder and living on borrowed time. 

“Ted, I--” Alan flicks what’s left of his cigarette over the balcony and draws in a sharp breath, almost pained. He hasn’t worn the ring in a week, though the tan line remains to taunt him.

To his credit, Ted steps closer than intended and only eyes the beers in the living room for a second or two. Alan has his full attention, he’s not sure he wants it. “What’s that, Al?” Ted prompts, nowhere near impatient.

The unendurable catastrophe of the evening is that Alan doesn’t have the nerve to push through the unthinkable. It’s not an altogether novel sentiment. After Todd had left all those weeks ago, he’d tried saying it. Alan had stood in front of the smudged mirror in the bedroom and had stared at his reflection until he’d stopped making sense of it and had wanted to mouth the words so badly that he’d ended up on the other side of that desperate desire. The sting of tears is as damning as ever.

He takes a steadying breath, prays that Ted doesn’t notice.

“Molly and I didn’t work out because I’m--” Alan grips the balcony railing. Gotham stretches unaided, a labyrinth of a city. Eyes screwed shut, he takes greedy gulps of air. “Molly and I didn’t work out because--” Oh, god. “I like men.”

Oh, _god_.

Alan doesn’t realise he’s crying until he opens his eyes and the lights below have gone hazy. He’s frozen in place, unable to look at Ted and incapable to bring a hand up to wipe at his eyes. Humiliation scorches him. He tenses and waits for Ted to deck him, stock-still and as silent as the grave. The tears don’t stop, Alan’s infamous willpower fails him. _Oh, god_ , he thinks again.

And again.

For the longest time, Ted doesn’t say a word.

There’s a lot to account for, Alan knows. Training sessions, shared hotel rooms, a kiss on a dare, drinks and cigarettes and the intimacy of a decades-long friendship. Alan sinks into guilt and wonders whether there’s any way to brace oneself for a punch from a heavyweight champ.

“Alright,” Ted says eventually, cautious. First time for everything. “I’m gonna need some time to think about, um, that.”

He’s halfway out the door when Alan gets the courage to turn around, a strangled sob caught in his throat. He’s still waiting on that punch, wanting the tangible reality of the worst decision he’s made. It’s easy to blame it on the weight of eighty-something years of lies but Alan can’t see beyond the way he’s drowning in a self-made disaster. “Alright,” he echoes, nods a couple times like he’s trying to convince himself.

The door shuts behind Ted.

It’s out there now. Alan sits and breathes the cold night air.

**Author's Note:**

> COUPLE NOTES & REFERENCES:
> 
> \- capelli's in new york is alan's all time favourite pizza (that's apparently straight up horrible) from jsa 1999 #33  
> \- derek troxell comes from the last arc in jsa classified  
> \- the kid from boston is JARED STEVENS, THE MAN CALLED FATE. go go go read the book of fate (1997), it's the best comic in the freakin world. changed my life. witness alan's homicidal mania  
> \- alan lives in the gbc penthouse because i think its a neat lil place for his extremely single man bachelor pad but also you have to picture it with the atlas motif from robinson's the golden age  
> \- as we all know, molly's obsession back in the day was harley quinn tier  
> \- these guys are all from the forties, homophobia (internalised & otherwise) is a given and i'm not about to argue over that  
> \- the kiss on a dare comes from @slaapkat's wonderful perfect drabble [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127076/chapters/63564061)  
> \- title comes from mountain goats song of the same name
> 
> HOPE YOU LIKED IT. FIND ME & TALK TO ME AT @UFONAUT ON TUMBLR, WE'RE ON PERMANENT ALAN SCOTT LOCKDOWN.


End file.
